During childhood, my imagination found expression in various ways – in writing, art and music (most things creative, in fact). Writing won out eventually. I loved hearing stories that related to my world; I used to demand stories from my sister about me and our family black Labrador, Bonnie.
Once I was able, I started to write my own stories.
It wasn’t hard; we had lots of adventures to talk about – clambering up waterfalls (also known as the staircase) and fighting through exotic jungle (also known as the back garden).
In my teens I hit the poetry and lyrics phase. These were of varying standards, but they included the not-so-bad, the quite good, the very bad and the extremely anguished – I was, after all, a teenaged girl with a lot of feelings on her hands!
At first I wrote to express myself, but gradually set to creating pieces that might be considered worthy of reading by others. Some of my less embarrassing poems made their way into our parish magazine. I wrote a couple of poems especially for a lady we used to visit in a nursing home; me and my mum put one of them in a frame for her. I’m not sure they were really as good as she made out, but there was no doubt she appreciated them and drew comfort from the words.
I began to realise that writing was not just for expression and for entertainment, but could also be used to encourage people, to let them know that they were special and loved.
And so I began to write more non-fiction, inspirational pieces, which often reflected my Christian faith, as that has always been an intrinsic part of my life.
Acorns, perhaps, of potential. How would they grow? I didn’t know, and to some extent, still don’t. But they were there.